by Sandra Heath
At last he went to the steps leading down into the garden, and she heard him, looking up swiftly. She stood, the book slipping from her lap, and as he neared her, he saw that there were tears shimmering in her lovely gray eyes.
He put his top hat and gloves down on the seat and then turned to face her. ‘How are you? William said there was a storm and a tree struck by lightning …’
‘I’m all right, Francis.
‘Oh, Alison, if only you’d waited—’
‘I had to come back here. I couldn’t bear feeling the way I did.’ She met his eyes. ‘Please forgive me for all the things I said to you. When you told my uncle that you believed Pamela and William were—’
He put a finger to her lips. ‘There is no need to say anything, my darling, for all recriminations and misunderstandings must be put in the past. I’ve wanted to tell you how much I love you, but somehow the words have never been said.’
She gazed at him through her tears. ‘You love me?’ she whispered.
‘How can you doubt it? In the beginning we pretended to be lovers, but I found it only too easy to keep up that pretense. When I kissed you, I meant it, and when I held you close, I wanted to make you mine. My desire and love have almost been the undoing of me because they’ve been so very strong. And then, before the opera, when I tried to tell you and make you confess your feelings too, what should have been a moment of sheer joy and honesty became a nightmare of misunderstanding and accusations. I retreated into my wounded vanity, and became cold and distant. I responded poorly, Alison, and mishandled everything, but I didn’t stop loving you. I know that I said I wished to marry you because I felt I had compromised you and because your family had to be considered, but that was always only part of it. I should have told you that I loved you, but I didn’t, and for that I will always blame myself.’
‘I’ve been as much at fault,’ she replied, her voice trembling with incredible happiness. He loved her! Tears of joy wended their way down her cheeks and she reached out to him.
He took her hand, drawing her gently into his arms and holding her close. He closed his eyes. ‘I love you, Alison, and that is why I wish to marry you. Be my bride, my darling. Let me make you Lady Buckingham.’
She slipped her arms around him. ‘Nothing would give me greater happiness,’ she said softly.
He put his hand to her chin, tilting her lips toward him. He could taste the salt of her tears and feel how her body quivered against his. The kiss was long and lingering, and all the sweeter for being utterly honest. There was no pretense now, no guilt and no danger. They were in England now, not Russia, and hazardous government business was a lifetime away. They did not need to glance over their shoulder to see if Prince Nikolai’s spies were watching, and they did not need to give others the impression that they were something they weren’t. This kiss was the truth, painfully sincere and filled with a love they had both tried to deny.
Francis drew back, cupping her face in his hands. ‘You know there will still be talk, don’t you? We all four will be at the center of much gossip and speculation, for society is going to be much surprised when it learns which lady is to be Lord Buckingham’s bride.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you mind?’
‘I mind nothing in this world as long as you love me,’ she whispered.
‘I will always love you, Alison,’ he said softly, kissing her again.
By the Same Author
A Scandalous Publication
A Perfect Likeness
An Impossible Confession
A Matter of Duty
The Pilfered Plume
Copyright
© Sandra Heath 1991, 2008
First published in Great Britain 2008
This edition 2011
ISBN978 0 7090 9435 7 (ebook)
ISBN978 0 7090 9436 4 (mobi)
ISBN978 0 7090 9437 1 (pdf)
ISBN978 0 7090 8091 6 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Sandra Heath to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988